A Stupid Tale
by madmbutterfly713
Summary: The bed squeaks as Bumlets sits up. He is suddenly doused in cold fear. Sweat beads on his upper lip, and his heart hammers twice as hard as it usually would. A tall, slim lady bends over the cradle. She isn't Emily. She isn't even human.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue.**

Bumlets wakes to weak morning sunlight streaming into the room under the blind. He stretches and scratches his back. Bumlets looks around.

He lives in a cramped one room apartment, whose furniture consists of a single table, four beat up chairs which once belonged to Tibby's, a tarnished stove, a wooden chest, a bed and a cradle. Bumlets's son, Matthew, sleeps peacefully inside.

Bumlets glances at the clock hanging just to the right of the only window on the east side of the apartment. It's five thirty. He has another hour before he must leave to arrive at work (Bumlets is an editor for a growing new paper) on time at seven.

"Good," he thinks, and smiles to himself. He rolls over to face the other side of the bed, where Emily sleeps.

Bumlets smiles again. He is lucky to have found someone so perfect for him. They've been married a year.

Her dark, blue-black curls are spread out in a fan on her off-white pillow. Bumlets picks one up and twists it gently around a brown finger. He sighs contentedly and scoots closer to her, cradling her small, slim body in his. She fits into him perfectly, and he puts an arm around her waist. Somehow, only an hour with her doesn't seem like enough, even if she will be asleep for most of the time.

He pulls her a bit closer and nuzzles her neck. He is so very lucky. He smiles for a third time and allows himself to slip into his memory.

It's a Saturday night. Bumlets is at Irving Hall with a mixture of Manhattan and Brooklyn newsies, waiting for the show. Saturday night always is the best show to see. Bumlets is, as usual, without a date. He's too shy to ask anyone.

He and David Jacobs sit at a small circular table at the back of the hall. They both squint in the bright lights, so different from the cool dark night just outside the double doors.

Bumlets searches the hall with his eyes. He has nothing better to do.

Jack has Sarah Jacobs on his arm. Racetrack is plucking his Havana cigar out of the mouth of a ditzy blonde, who shrieks in outrage. Blink is making out like there is no tomorrow with a pale girl in a flame red dress. Mush appears to be hiding from his date, and that pessimistic red head is with Skittery again. Spot, uncharacteristically, seems to have brought one date, not five. And it isn't even Blood, one of the usuals. But David . . .

David is in a slump. He orders himself a drink. Bumlets questions whether David has ever had a drop of alcohol in his life. Bumlets decides David hasn't.

"I don't think I'll ever understand them," David says sharply, setting down his drink. Bumlets is startled, but only raises a single black eyebrow in response.

"Women," David continues, "that's what I'll never understand. Or, more specifically, Allie." He takes a large sip of the amber liquid in his cup. "I mean, I didn't even _do_ anything this time. She looked mad when she opened he door. Later I asked what was wrong and," he takes another swig, "she screamed at me and told me to get the fuck out of her face. I don't get it." Bumlets sighs.

"I am not the person to go to for female problems," Bumlets says, his voice smooth and velvety. It is the first time he has said anything outside of selling all day. David ignores him.

"See, I know I'm not real beautiful of anything, but my personality isn't too bad. I mean, I'm a nice guy, aren't I?" Bumlets nods. David stares into the swirling alcohol in front of him.

"You should talk more Bumlets. You have a fantastic voice. You'd get loads of girls that way." Bumlets shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He likes the topic of David's problems much more than his own. "Maybe if you smiled more. You have a nice smile, too. You – you haven't seen Allie lately, have you?" Back to David's problems. Bumlets nods. He saw her yesterday while he was selling.

"Maybe _you're_ why she suddenly hates me," David continues, turning to glare at Bumlets. Bumlets shakes his head furiously. This conversation isn't making any sense. "Naw, it _couldn't_ be you. Bum – you don't think –" David's voice cracks, "that Allie would prefer someone like you over me?"

"No." Bumlets says it quickly. He's only met her once, and he knows there's no way.

"Thanks." David is silent for a few minutes. Then, "The show's starting," he says unnecessarily as the curtains pull open. Medda appears to be late.

Spot, who has not yet found a seat, takes a hold of his date's hand, and turns. He searches for a seat. He spots Bumlets and David sitting by themselves, and gives his date's hand a gentle tug. She turns, and Bumlets gasps.

Her dark curls frame her olive skinned, heart shaped face, and just reaches her shoulders, clothed in deep blue. Her eyes are a sparkling black. A scar runs through her right eyebrow. She is, if imaginable, shorter than Spot. Bumlets understands why Spot doesn't want any other dates besides her; Bumlets thinks she's beautiful enough for them all.

The couple arrives at Bumlets's table just as Medda sprints on stage, out of breath and looking quite flustered.

"Do you mind?" Spot whispers. Bumlets shakes his head no, he doesn't mind, but Spot is already seating his date on Bumlets's right. Bumlets goes red at her closeness.

"Em, this is David and Bumlets." David glares at his drink. Bumlets, of course, doesn't say anything, but he does smile weakly at her. Bumlets is rewarded with a brilliant smile in return. Spot is still speaking. "Davie, Bum, this is Emily."

Bumlets, of course doesn't say anything.

Neither does Emily.

Blood is on Spot's arm the next week. Emily is also there, but has no date. She sits with Bumlets. When David asks why she isn't with Spot, she merely shrugs. She tells Bumlets later that he dumped her because she wouldn't sleep with him.

She continues to come to the Saturday night shows for the next two months, and it takes that long for Bumlets to ask her to go with him. She accepts immediately.

It's been three months, and both black haired people are talking much more frequently, and not just among themselves.

They are standing under a street lamp, just in the middle of the pool of light. They are alone. Bumlets, always one for being a bit of a gentleman, asks if he can kiss her. When she doesn't say yes immediately, he opens his mouth to apologize, but she silences him with a very non verbal answer.

They are married a year later in a small church just outside of Manhattan. They are the only ones present, besides the minister, and their witness, Racetrack.

A clock chimes in the distance. Bumlets is brought back out of memory. It is six o'clock. Bumlets better get up. He gives a little groan, and rolls out of bed. Emily rolls over on her side and opens her eyes. She smiles at Bumlets closes them again, and pretends to be asleep.

Bumlets pulls on a pair of pants, and rummages through the trunk for a clean shirt. He resurfaces with a dark blue one. He buttons it slowly.

Matthew gives his first soft cry of the day, and Emily suddenly stops pretending to be asleep. She swings her feet out of the bed and picks him up, cradling him in her arms. Matthew is 5 months old now.

When Bumlets first told Racetrack that Emily was pregnant, Racetrack joked that it must be someone else's, because he hadn't thought Bumlets was "capable of doing something like that". But when Matthew was born, it was clearly evident that Matthew was Bumlets's child; he resembles him in every way.

Bumlets grabs an apple on his way out, and makes it a point to kiss Emily goodbye.

It is a sunny July thirteenth, and the warm wind blows through his hair. The usual hustle and bustle of New York City is just hustly and bustly as usual. A man on the corner of 22 and 44 calls out to passersby, selling pies. Bumlets waves to him. He's known Pie Eater for a long time.

His office building, however, is quite drab compared to the outside world. It's rather depressing. He climbs one flight of stairs, turns to the right, and opens the third door cautiously.

A paper airplane promptly bounces off his head. Tom, who shares the small office with Bumlets, is sitting in his chair, his feet propped up on the poor excuse for a table.

"Morning, Taylor," he says, grinning. Bumlets nods. He hates that name. The minister who married him and Emily wanted a last name on the marriage license. Bumlets doesn't have a real last name. As far as he knows, Bumlets is his real first name.

"Bumlets," he mutters, pulling a note from his boss towards him.

"Denton says he wants to see you at the end of the day," Tom says lazily, gesturing to the paper. Bumlets goes white. What if he loses his job?

"Did he say why?" Tom shrugs.

Bumlets can't concentrate for the whole rest of the day. At five thirty, Bumlets drags himself up to the top floor, and knocks on Denton's door. Mr. Denton retired from The Sun two years ago to make his own paper, The Torch.

"Come on in," a friendly voice says from behind the mahogany door. Bumlets pushes it open. Denton raises his head and smiles. "Have a seat, Bumlets."

Bumlets leaves the office twenty minutes later with a large, goofy smile plastered to his face. He nearly flies down the stairs and out the door. He jogs the first three blocks home before breaking into a flat out sprint. He can't wait to tell Emily he's been promoted.

"You'll earn fifty percent more than what you used to," Mr. Denton had told him. "That's one dollar and fifty cents a week, Mr. Taylor!"

He rounds the corner of 22 and 44, and forces himself into a walk as he passes the final stretch to home. He walks into the tenement building and up the five flights of stairs to his apartment on the sixth floor. He waves merrily to Mrs. Meyers as he passes her door. He can see Mush around her sitting at the kitchen table, bent over a newspaper.

Seven doors left to go down the hall before he reaches home. His apartment is the last one on the left.

He stops dead in front of his apartment. The door is wide open. Emily isn't there.

**Author's Note: Okay, you review, I'll write more. This is the first time I've used present tense in a chapter story, so bear with me. Sorry about the elongified Bumlets/Emily history, but you have to see that develop and how important they are to each other. Hopefully, the story will get a lot more interesting in chapters to come! Review, my pretties!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue.**

There must be some reason Emily is gone.

"She must have gone to the market," Bumlets reasons with himself. "Or down to visit Racetrack two floors below, him being her best friend and all." Bumlets sweeps the apartment with his eyes, just to make sure Emily isn't there. She isn't.

Bumlets jumps when a soft cry issues from the small cradle next to his bed. Matthew.

Bumlets crosses the room in three long strides and scoops up the little boy, whose wails are increasing each moment. Emily doesn't normally leave Matthew by himself, Bumlets knows that for sure. And even if she did, she wouldn't have left the door wide open, just waiting for anyone to walk in.

Matthew's cries are echoing off the walls, slowly yet steadily turning into shrill screams. Bumlets cuddles him and pats his back softly, though his mind is not on Matthew. Where is Emily?

Bumlets searches the whole apartment for a note, a sign, anything to show where Emily might have gone. He finds none.

What if Emily . . . left? Left him? And Matthew? No, Emily loves him. She wouldn't. But . . .

Bumlets tells himself to calm down. She is just being careless today. She forgot to take Matthew with her. She forgot to close the door. Yeah, right.

The bead creaks as it so often does when Bumlets perches on it. Matthew is finally quieting down. He chokes on a sob once or twice before he is still. He searches the room with his deep brown eyes, looking for his mother.

Bumlets waits for three hours, and Emily still does not come home. Bumlets's brow is furrowed as he paces the room. He jumps at small noises, but none of them is Emily.

When the old clock on the wall chimes nine, Bumlets scoops up a sleeping Matthew and brings him down the hall to the Meyers' apartment. Mrs. Meyers, better known as Catwalk, opens the door. She at first appears disgruntled at being interrupted, but when she sees Bumlets, a look of concern crosses her face.

"What's wrong, Bumlets?" she asks.

"Here, hold him," Bumlets replies, passing Matthew to her.

"What –"

"Have you seen Emily today?" Her eyebrows plunge down her face.

"No. Bumlets –"

"Watch Matthew until I get back. I need to find Emily," Bumlets tells her. He turns and makes his way down the steps as quickly as possible before Catwalk can ask anymore questions.

He doesn't know where to look, but he goes to the obvious places first.

His first stop is Tibby's, but the moment he steps in he knows she can't be here. There is an old couple sitting in a corner booth, holding hands, and a single man he recognizes as Skittery is sitting at the bar, looking very drunk and mumbling something about elves. Besides them, the restaurant is empty. Bumlets makes a u-turn out the door.

Bumlets hurries down Duane Street, praying that Emily is here.

He is greeted by twenty hellos and waves. He doesn't see Emily, but asks Jack if she is here anyway.

"No," Jack says sadly, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "I did see her heading over the Brooklyn Bridge when I was selling today, though. I'll help ya look," he offers.

Ten minutes later he and Jack Kelly are trudging across the bridge to see Spot Conlon. Emily _might_ have gone to him. Bumlets silently doubts this, though, but doesn't say anything. Jack is nice enough to come with him, and he doesn't take well to criticism; he might leave, and Bumlets certainly doesn't want that.

Spot hasn't seen Emily for several months, and Bumlets leaves the Brooklyn Lodging House quite dejected.

Jack helps Bumlets search for hours, and they don't find Emily. They don't even gather any news on Emily.

"She might've gone home, Bum. Go check back there," Jack suggests, patting him on the back.

Bumlets walks home slowly, checking in every dark alley he comes across, just in case. He finds a dog and a few beggars, but no Emily.

Emily is not in the dark apartment when he returns. Bumlets falls onto the bed fully dressed and falls into a fitful sleep.

In the morning, he knocks on the Meyers' door again. He tells Catwalk sadly that, no, he hasn't found Emily yet, and would she please watch Matthew while he goes to work?

Bumlets leaves a note on the apartment table, just in case:

_Scared me to death, don't do that again. Matthew at Meyers. _

_Bum_

Bumlets is distracted from his work all day. He can't keep his mind off of Emily, understandably. Tom isn't helping, considering a paper airplane whizzes past Bumlets's head every few seconds. If you didn't know better, you would guess Tom is a very large, very bored school boy.

"See you tomorrow, Taylor," he says, flipping his white blonde hair out of his eyes as Bumlets walks out the door as calmly as he can at five thirty. He won't, though.

Bumlets flings open his apartment door, only to be disappointed. Emily is still not home.

He picks up Matthew from Catwalk's home. She hasn't seen Emily either.

Bumlets fixes himself a very measly meal and eats it by himself as Matthew pulls himself around on top of Bumlets's bed. Bumlets allows himself a small smile. It is Matthew's first attempt at crawling. Emily would be so pleased.

His heart pangs as his thoughts are brought back to Emily once again, something that isn't so unusual anymore.

He can imagine Emily laughing as Matthew falls over and giggles anyway. He sees her hair swinging as she bends over Matthew to kiss him before she plops him in his cradle for the night.

Bumlets gives himself a shake. He'll look for her tomorrow he decides as he places Matthew in his cradle. He is lucky tonight; Matthew falls asleep right away. He must have been tired.

Bumlets is tired, too. He pulls the sheets up to his chin and dozes off into an uneasy sleep immediately.

He wakes up with a shiver, but doesn't open his eyes, willing himself back to sleep. He can't though, the room is too cold.

It's the middle of summer. It's hot in the summer, even at night. Bumlets's eyes snap open.

Moonlight falls through the open window and across the room.

Bumlets never opened the window.

The bed squeaks as Bumlets sits up. He is suddenly doused in cold fear. Sweat beads on his upper lip, and his heart hammers twice as hard as it usually would. A tall, slim lady bends over the cradle. She isn't Emily. She isn't even human.

Bumlets doesn't believe those stupid tales about the elves stealing beautiful wives away from loving husbands, and their children too, if they can manage it. Bumlets has always taken them for what they are: a stupid tale. Up till now. Not now that he's seen one.

The elf's pale green hair hangs limply around her face, pointed ears pushing through the thin curtains. Her fire red eyes rest hungrily on Matthew and her knotted hands reach with gnarled fingernails towards the sleeping boy, her skin glowing a putrid-like purple in the weak moonlight.

Bumlets lets out a surprised cry just as her skin makes contact with Matthew's. The elf turns sharply to look at Bumlets, who leaps out of bed. She shrieks at him, and Matthew wakes with a sharp scream.

"Don't touch him!" Bumlets yells at the woman, running forward. He is inches form her when she is no longer there. He stops short. Matthew is looking absolutely terrified, but unharmed.

Bumlets spins around to check the room. The elf is nowhere to be seen.

Bumlets pads over to the window and slams it shut, then scoops up Matthew, hugging him to his chest.

Bumlets's eyes still dart around the room, looking for the spirit which has scared both him and his son so much. He can't find her. Bumlets suddenly has a distinct unlike of the dark and lights a candle, giving himself, huddled on the bed with Matthew, just enough light to see them through till morning.

When the first rays of sunlight cascade through the window and on to the floor, Bumlets pulls on clean clothes and carries Matthew down the hall.

He hammers on the Meyers' door and hands Matthew to Catwalk without a word.

"Bumlets, I heard you yelling, what –"

Bumlets tells her.

"Oh my Lord," she says softly, "do you really believe . . .?"

Bumlets nods.

"There are elves, and they want him. Don't let him out of your sight." Bumlets looks down and meets the eyes of the three year old Elizabeth clutching to her mother's nightgown, her blonde hair shining and doe eyes wide with fright. "Keep a close eye on Elizabeth, too."

Bumlets trudges down the stairs and out into the crisp morning air. There is someone he needs to see.

**Hey! Thanks so much for the reviews! Keep 'em up!**

**Cinnamon Spice: Er, thanks. Updated! Hope you don't mind that I gave you a little girl.**

**Daydream1: Hey, glad you like it! Thanks for liking the length, I wasn't sure.**

**Autumn-Park: Okay, just wondering, but did you even read the story, or did you just want to say thanks because I reviewed one of your stories? If you did read it, WELL? What did ya think? If you didn't and actually come back to read this: What IS a 69? (I'm being totally serious, I want to know.)**

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**Till next time!**


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